


our hearts, they need a mirror

by leov66



Series: pillowtalk [2]
Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Internalized Homophobia if you squint, M/M, i think the word that describes this one the best is altschmerz, implied mild sexual content, regrets and sadness, they have some unresolved issues, they love each other though, visions of a future youll never have, which is basically weariness with the same pain youve always been dealing with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leov66/pseuds/leov66
Summary: The thing about Will is that he never stops thinking. A future he -they- would never have is ever present. It can be too much. He's not alone this time.I've swallowed my visions/with care.(Arthur Rimbaud,Evening)





	our hearts, they need a mirror

**Author's Note:**

> yee fuckin haw dudes. instead of finishing a wip or two i wrote this thing. im so glad i did though. some more of the boys cause they really will be the death of me

They lie in darkness that welcomes them in a way daylight never could. The candle flickers occasionally, and the shadows on Horace’s face make him look younger. They are _both_ young, Will has to remind himself time and time again, but he hasn’t felt young in a long time now. Life presses itself into him in marks on his face, but it’s the heaviness in his heart that burdens him the most. He shakes those thoughts off, as he always does. The aftermath always leaves him like this. Like he’s so close to something, so close that he can almost touch it, but it slips away when he reaches out. It’s a future that he sees, or a version of it. Just him and Horace, together in the little house, the waves crashing against the shore. It’s a dream of early mornings bathed in sunlight and no more unsaid words between them.

 

Of course, the vision shatters. It always does when the sun rises. But for now, the only light is a single candle burning on the nightstand, and so Will lets himself dream. Of a different world, perhaps, where they laugh and kiss, and are no longer ashamed.

 

Horace presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “Don’t think,” he murmurs against his hair, smiling like he always does when it’s just the two of them. The thing is, Will’s always thinking. It’s his second nature to contemplate and consider; to take things apart, even - _especially -_ when it’s the easiest ones. He tries not to seem so tense, though, tries to relax his shoulders and unclench his jaw, but that doesn’t seem to be enough. (Horace doesn’t like half-truths. Half-anythings, really.)

 

“What’s the matter, then?”, Horace asks, failing to mask the uncertainity in his voice. It’s as if he doesn’t want to know, not when the shadows of their intimacy haven’t yet left the room. Nothing good ever comes out of late night thinking. Will knows that as well, and he only pushes himself up on the mattress to take in every detail of Horace’s face. It feels like he knows it better than he does his own when he studies it over and over, tracing it with his finger. They breathe in and out together, slowly, when Will’s thumb ghosts over Horace’s mouth. The kiss that follows feels natural, the way they just fit together like they were meant for each other. Horace deepens it, pulls Will as close as he can, yearning to feel every part of him. In a way, they’re still so desperate for each other. It makes Will’s heart ache every single time.

 

His throat is tight when he manages to gather his courage and speak. There is no one here but Horace to hear him, yet it comes out too quiet, too pained. “You could’ve been king,” Will whispers, unable to meet Horace’s eyes. “You _should’ve_ been king,” he goes on, before he’s able to stop himself.

 

Horace’s breath catches in his throat, Will can see that, recognises the reaction as one of the first ones that Halt taught him. _Surprise, shock. Either way, look at the eyes._ In Horace’s there’s sadness, guilt. He can’t bear to watch it for long. There’s a heaviness in Will’s chest, a weight lying just where he’s trying to breathe, his heart beating too fast. They’ve talked about it, but not like that. Not in such a moment of vulnerability.

 

“Will, I-,” Horace starts, carefully. It feels like he understands that it’s Will’s heart that he’s holding in his palms. A single word, and he could crush it; suffocate his lover with an answer like the one he fears the most. “You could’ve been a knight. You could’ve been a Royal Scout. I could’ve stayed in Nihon-Ja. We could’ve been so many different things, but we’re not.”

 

Will only shakes his head, unconvinced. “We’re not,” he repeats, sounding even more distanced than before. “That’s the problem, we’re _not_ , and it’s my fault. Because loving you is not enough.” His voice cracks on the last words, and the little sound he makes is muffled a moment too late. “I can’t give you anything, and she could.”

 

It’s such a beautiful night. Not a single sound interrupts them as Horace gathers his thoughts. Every word is carefully measured; it’s like a duel. Maybe that’s the problem, maybe compromise shouldn’t feel like surrender anymore. “I don’t love her. You can’t add up and compare how much you and she are worth, it doesn’t change anything.

 

“There was a time,” Horace says, eyes fixed on an unmoving Will, “when I thought I wanted that. Her. But there was you. There was always you.”

 

The breath Will takes, and the next one after that, feels like a struggle. His chest hurts; maybe it’s the shame he has for himself, maybe it’s the love he has for Horace. Either way, it hurts. “This can’t ever be easy, can it,” he says, but he doesn’t want to fight anymore. They have each other, that should be enough. It’s never enough.

 

It’s hard to say what he wants to say when all his love is right in front of him in the flesh, laid on the same bed between the same sheets. “If we’d never had each other like that, would we be happier? Imagine everything you could’ve had.”

 

Here’s a truth; it was never about her, or anyone else. The real problem is the possibility, the thought that never leaves Will when he’s with Horace. Everything they have is a careful arrangement, woven into a web of secrets and silence. For Will, it’s nothing new, but for Horace? How _dare_ Will demand he, Araluen’s greatest knight, hide from the world?

 

Horace smiles at him, but it’s the sad, knowing sort. It seems fitting for the night. “You know what I want, Will.”

 

“Say it, then.”

 

“You.”

 

It’s not all the comfort in the world, it’s not a declaration or a vow. It’s not enough, and it isn’t everything they wished for, but they’d be fools if they didn’t take whatever they could. They can try to dream one another a different world, though.

 

Will dreams of a house, Horace of two crowns.


End file.
